


On A Bad Day

by overdosingonyou



Category: Glee
Genre: Abduction, Animal Play, Crack, Dehumanization, Dog Play, Dominance, F/M, Femdom, Humiliation, Non Consensual, Ownership, Submission, Total Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overdosingonyou/pseuds/overdosingonyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Kurt wants to get away from here, he doesn't want to be found. Not like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On a Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely non-con, and plays with the dehumanization kink. As usual, if it's not your thing, please don't read.

When Kurt had tried to speak, she had swatted his ass with a folded up glossy-paged magazine ( _Cheerleading Today_ , he had noted hysterically) and while it hadn't particularly hurt, the embarrassment was sharp and it _had_ startled him into a more animal-appropriate yelp. When he had recovered and tried to protest, she had delivered another slap, and he had kept quiet after that.

Well, not completely. There are many things in this arrangement that he may or may not have protested against at first, but he's learning. Speaking equals punishment and nothing else.

Even regular dogs learn that equation easily enough.

Despite the overwhelming humiliation, he had even attempted to communicate with Imelda, get her to help him, but she must either be loyal to Sue, or paid enough to be, and had merely ignored him and, damn her, ratted him off to Sue the moment she came home from work. That had resulted in a miserable night in what Sue called his punishment cage; a regular steel cage, too small to allow him to lie down properly and too low for him to sit or stand, forcing him to remain on all fours, curled in on himself. He had been kept naked (as is usual nowadays) on the concrete floor in Sue's garage the entire night, cold and his entire body aching.

It wasn't something he ever wanted to repeat, so, it had probably served its purpose.

~*~

Sue strokes his hair idly, her hands dry (in another life, he could _so_ have set her up with a perfect moisturizing routine) but also gentle in a way that had initially surprised him. He would be annoyed that she is messing up his hairdo, only he doesn't exactly have access to hairspray, or even a comb nowadays, not to mention that the touch is oddly relaxing. It almost makes him forget, for a while, about his nakedness, the tight leather collar around his neck. Or maybe it emphasizes the feeling, he doesn't know, but somehow it isn't an issue.

She is working on something on her computer, he can't see what exactly because the screen is above his line of sight, but she is intently focused on it. She had told him to heel, however, and he doesn't dare to disobey, so he remains on the floor beside her chair for the time being. It could be worse, he thinks. At least here, it's just the two of them.

When he is locked out of her office (where his dog bed and blanket is) he finds himself forced to wander through the house on his hands and knees and he'll almost certainly run into Imelda, and he loathes that. Somehow it makes his situation more connected to the real world, and while she doesn't say anything, her eyes on him makes him suddenly more aware of his own bizarre appearance and nakedness. It makes him wonder, too, what his friends would say if they saw him now, something he _really_ doesn't want to think about. While he wants to get away from here, he doesn't want to be found. Not like this.

Sue's fingers start massaging the hairline behind one of his ears and he lets out a sigh despite himself, closing his eyes.

He's surprised to hear a deep chuckle above him and he opens one eye to peer up at Sue.

"You like that?" she asks, the cheer in her voice just slightly on the mocking side. Milder than usual, in any case.

Unable to speak, and knowing that glaring would only earn him further mockery, he bows his head. It's not giving up, he tells himself. It's picking his battles, and keeping what little integrity he has left.

At least, by taking away his speech, she offers him complete privacy with his thoughts.

Then she starts using her nails to scratch his scalp through the thick, short hair on the back of his head and he nearly groans in pleasure.

Damn it.

~*~

 

Other than not being permitted to speak, the most frustrating part of the whole thing are probably the mitts.

They are made of black leather and shaped somewhat like paws, forcing his hands tightly into fists as they are locked on. For being such a simple for of bondage, they are amazingly effective. The inability to use his fingers renders him more helpless than he would have thought, and he has to rely on Sue, or her housekeeper, to take care of even the simplest things for him.

He can't brush his teeth or fix his hair. He can't effectively scratch himself or wash himself, or use cutlery. He can't handle a phone, remote control, keyboard, or even really open a book. He can't even untie a knot, when Sue decides to tie his leash to her bedpost, a table-leg or a doorknob.

He can't masturbate, and that inability is as embarrassing as the need itself.

It's not that he finds the situation arousing. But he is a teenage boy, and sometimes he wakes up with a hard-on despite himself. Sometimes it happens when he is awake, for no reason at all, and he desperately tries to will it away before Sue notices, but the helplessness of the situation somehow makes him harder, almost like his own body is mocking him.

~*~

 

He is in the kitchen when she comes home from work, carrying a few boxes that she must have picked up on the way home. She puts them on the table and calls his name; he pads closer, half-wary, half-curious.

"I got you something," she says, voice laden with satisfaction as she rummages through one of the boxes. "The only thing missing. I think you'll like it. Well," she corrects lightly. "You'll learn to like it."

There isn't enough time for his trepidation to build, really, because then she raises her hand, holding something he really wishes he didn't understand what it was.

"It's your tail, buddy," Sue says with false cheer. She wiggles it in front of him, and he watches the rubber tail wobble in an imitation of a wag, a sick feeling in his stomach. The other end is shaped like a plug, and even he knows its purpose. "Nice, eh? Can't have a dog without a tail."

Kurt tries to back away, discreetly, although he already knows that it is futile. She merely snorts. "Come on now, lady. You were practically born to take things up your ass anyway."

She closes the door before he reaches it, and he gives up, watching her coat the plug end in some sort of clear salve. When she approaches he feels himself tense; he has to fight the urge to try and run.

She places one hand on his back, the other, she uses to work the plug into his ass. She doesn't bother to stretch him beforehand, like he has read is typical, and he whimpers in pain as _that_ muscle is forced open. Even though Sue goes almost painfully slow, he is trembling and sweating by the time the plug is finally past the widest end and the rest slips in fairly easily to fill him uncomfortably. He is barely aware of the way she pats one of his buttocks lightly and stands. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

She walks away, leaving him in the kitchen to get used to the new sensations.

He feels stretched and sore and painfully full. The unfamiliar sensation is intense, and several minutes later, when he finally dares to move, stiffly, halting, the tail wobbling, creating a sensation that is impossible to ignore.

~*~

 

An early part of Kurt's “training” had included eating from a bowl.

His water bowl is usually refilled when empty. If it isn't (Kurt suspects that she neglects to do so on purpose) he only has to whine and whimper a bit and Sue, or sometimes Imelda, will appear to fill it up.

Food, he gets three times a day, regular human fare mostly, more meat than he himself would have preferred, but it's not canned dog-food, at least, so it's not like he's complaining. He does, however, hate the impossibility of eating neatly when he is only using his mouth. He used to be the sort of child that fussed when he got dirt on his clothes while playing, and he had used to cry when he got ketchup on his hands or face while eating and his parents didn't immediately clean it away.

Because he doesn't actually have a snout he has to press his entire face into the bowl when he eats. On a good day he'll be able to pick each bit up with his teeth and somehow flick it into his mouth. On a bad day he'll be given mashed potatoes; half his face will be covered when he is finished and he'll have to wait uncomfortably until someone comes along to dry him off.

~*~

 

Kurt gets used to the plug, but when it suddenly shifts slightly, when it hits something inside him that makes him see stars, that, he doesn't get used to. It is humiliating, however, because the odd stimulation is nothing like Kurt has ever experienced before, yet it effects him in all the most embarrassing ways.

And the worst thing is, he can't _do_ anything about it. When he gets into that mood he'll walk around on all fours as usual, his balls unbearably heavy and hot. When he is sitting down he'll find himself trying to rub against the carpet, almost unconsciously, and be mortified when he notices himself dripping pre-cum.

Sue notices eventually, of course. He feels his body flush with the utter humiliation as she orders him to stop hunching, to stand properly on all four as she inspects him. He wills his hard-on to die, it really should as _she_ is looking, but instead he feels almost more stimulated.

"Maybe you're not a complete lady," is all she says, soberly, and he he just wants to die. "Hang on tight."

Then her hand suddenly encircles his dick; he squirms away in horror, but he hand follows, and as usual he knows that he has no choice but to give in. She cups his balls with one hand, stroking him until he can't really remember why he wouldn't want Sue Sylvester touching his genitals because her hands are as skilled at this as they are at scratching his hair, and _oh_.

Kurt comes, caught in a few seconds of pleasure; her hand leaves him way too early and he feels himself humping air helplessly as he ejaculates on the floor beneath him. When the moment passes he finds himself only half satisfied, body still tingling and trembling, his head just a little fuzzy.

Sue stands up, patting his back cheerfully. "Attaboy. Knew you had it in you."

He peers at her as she settles in her desk chair, reaching for the computer mouse. "And clean up that mess, will you?"

He blinks, stumped over her matter-of-fact approach to all this. Beyond that, it takes him a few seconds to understand what she means; he backs up and glances down at the streaks of cum on the carpet.

He really doesn't want to lick it up, but what the hell. At the point, it is certainly not the worst thing he has done.

He feels Sue's eyes burn into his back as he lowers himself to the floor.

 


	2. Warning Signs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a follow-up to “On a Bad Day”. It is an old!fic, posting here now because apparently I forgot (sorry!) and it's nice for archiving purposes. All previous warnings apply.

There must have been warning signs, Kurt thinks muzzily, but he can’t quite seem to gather his thoughts enough to make sense of it all. His breath is uncomfortably warm against the mattress of his bed; he moves his head restlessly as he searches for a cool spot to rest his cheek against. The moment he finds one he regrets it, as a shiver slowly makes its way down his spine and he suddenly feels the need to curl in on himself for warmth.

Even through the confusing, painful throbbing in his head, he can hear Sue call him down for breakfast (she uses her megaphone, he really couldn’t miss it) and he knows that he ought to obey, he ought to be terrified not to, but it’s a definite, sad testament to how sick he is actually feeling because he just can’t work up the energy to care.

Instead, he curls himself into an even smaller ball, partly in an attempt to get warm, partly in some sort of futile attempt to defend himself from Sue’s inevitable ire.

“Lady, you have exactly five second to turn up or I’ll let you starve,” the megaphone screeches, and Kurt winces as the noise pierces through his ears and into his poor head until he feels disoriented and dizzy.

Thankfully, that seems to be it. A little later, he hears the front door open and close, and the sound of a key turning in the lock.

He falls into a fitful semi-sleep.

~*~

When Kurt wakes up, it is to the view of Sue’s feet and leg in front of his mattress. His head is still throbbing, his back aching, and his vision feels funny because when he tries to raise his eyes to try and interpret Sue’s face, it turns out that moving his eyes actually takes real effort and makes him feel slightly sick to his stomach.

He gives up and, instead, whimpers, hoping that it’ll sound pathetic enough that Sue will take pity on him.

She squats before him, and then there’s a familiar, dry hand brushing over his forehead. She has done this many times before, and it’s surprisingly soothing.

Still, just like that, something in his chest starts to ache and his throat feels oddly thick, unpleasant against his collar, and it’s as sudden as it is painful, how much he misses his dad. It’s just a brief feeling; he usually doesn’t think about his dad anymore, somehow locking that part of him away, deep inside, along with the self-awareness and shame that accompanies it.

The feeling passes. The swell of emotions calm and is replaced by almost confusing relief.

He nuzzles Sue’s hand, automatically.

~*~

“It’s just the flu,” Sue tells him. “I would tell you to walk it off, but I suppose not everyone has my excellent tolerance for pain. Or resistance to heart failure.”

Kurt watches her passively from where she had dumped him on the bed; her actual own bed. She had led him to it and told him to hop on up, but, with the height and the way his back was aching, she had eventually ordered him to put his front paws on the bed as she lifted his behind.

Being on an actual bed, or furniture overall, feels odd, and he is still half-expecting to be chased off, pushed to the floor and scolded, now that she has finished taking his temperature, but she’s just watching him, brows furrowed. He tiredly lowers himself into a lying position as he waits. If only he would stop feeling so warm.

“Stay,” she says then, and leaves the room.

~*~

In the end, he gets to spend the rest of the week in Sue’s bed. She gives him pills and water and crackers, and it’s confusing and a bit disconcerting to be forced into such a completely different routine.

His tail is taken out for the time being, leaving him feeling empty and vulnerable, like he is somehow being forced into a new level of nudity. The collar stays, however, as does the mitts. Furthermore, he is only allowed to lie at the foot end of the bed. He does get permission to burrow under the duvet, however, and it’s both softer and warmer than his mattress on the floor.

He doesn’t even mind it at night when he is pushed out of the way by her feet; instead learning to curl around her legs and take comfort from her presence.

A few days later, when Kurt has stopped feeling like he might drop dead any second and can once again form coherent thoughts, he is waken by a light smack on his rear and the stiff order to get down.

This time, albeit clumsily, he manages it himself.


End file.
